


Those Three Words

by TheExplodingPen



Series: We've Got Time [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Chuck Lives, Edging, Fix-It, M/M, Post Operation Pitfall, Praise Kink, Raleigh's POV, Slight Masochism, bottom!Chuck, but no one knows at first, like very slight, there's one line, top!Raleigh, virgin!Chuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1707341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheExplodingPen/pseuds/TheExplodingPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In that moment, he's glad he's never drifted with Chuck, because he doesn't think he'd be able to handle another vacant spot in his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Three Words

**Author's Note:**

> This fic comes with a [ Spotify playlist](http://open.spotify.com/user/prisoner1102/playlist/1ijTLpI0mcF3RM2L30fRYi), and an [ 8-Tracks playlist](http://8tracks.com/thebritishgovernment/we-ve-got-time) filled with lovely songs that fit Chuck and Raleigh perfectly.

Chuck's the one who finds him, sitting alone in the mess. There's a half-empty bottle of Jack sitting on the table in front of him, and another one, full, in his bag, even though he knows he can't get drunk. Operation Pitfall is scheduled for T-8 hours, because Striker needs to be repaired and apparently, canceling the apocalypse is more of a hurry-up-and-wait sort of deal. 

The Australian slides onto the bench next to him, and Raleigh pushes the bottle towards him. He's 21 and legal, but even if he wasn't, Raleigh isn't going to deny him a drink on what might be their last day on earth. When Chuck takes a deep pull, Raleigh watches how his jaw and throat work, how the skin around his eyes wrinkles and makes him look years older than he is. 

He's just a kid.

Chuck passes the bottle back, and his, “Can't even put out for the good stuff, _Ray_ ,” is quiet. _Them's fighting words,_ Raleigh would have answered, in another life, fists cocked and ready to swing, but instead he just takes a swig, wondering if Chuck had tasted him on the rim of the bottle the same way that he can taste Chuck. The way the younger man licks his lips doesn't do anything to convince him that he couldn't.

“Didn't want to break the bank, _Charlie,_ ” Raleigh answers, and the Australian laughs. 

* * *

_“I never knew whether to give him a hug or a kick in the ass.”_

_“With respect, sir, I'm pretty sure which one he needs.”_

* * *

Later, Raleigh leans over and gives Chuck the hug he needs, just an arm thrown across his shoulder and a quick squeeze. He doesn't expect the kid to lean into it and practically tuck himself against Raleigh's side, but he goes with it, shifting on the hard metal bench so that their bodies are touching from their ankles to their shoulders. Chuck curves in towards him, and Raleigh lifts his head so that he can tuck the younger man's head under his chin, his other arm coming up so he can clasp his hands behind Chuck's back. 

It's an uncomfortable position for the both of them, but they don't move for a long minute. It takes the echoing sound of footsteps to make Chuck jerk away, and even then, it's only a mechanic, walking around the periphery of the room. Raleigh watches Chuck watch him, and when the man is gone, their eyes meet.

“You blow at first dates, mate.” Chuck's grin is cocky and assured, but then there's the hesitant way that he's holding himself, and that speaks volumes more than his words do.

“I'm better at second ones,” Raleigh answers, and he hopes to God that he can remember the way Chuck's eyes light up for the rest of his life. 

* * *

“What're you doing down here, anyway?”

Chuck raises an eyebrow, as if to ask Raleigh how the fuck he gets to ask that question, when he was there first. But he says, “Killin' time,” anyway, reaching out to pluck the bottle out of Raleigh's hand. He licks his lips before taking a pull, and when he puts the bottle down, Raleigh sees his tongue dart out to barely catch a drop of the amber liquid. “You?”

Raleigh nods at the bottle, and when he takes it from the younger man, their fingers brush. “Needed to get away from everything,” he says. “This is about as far as I can go.”

“No second base?” Chuck shoots back, and Raleigh gets the double entendre. He hasn't flirted, properly flirted, in ages, and somehow he doubts that Chuck has had that much experience with it, either. 

“Time's short,” he says. And now Chuck's leaning against him again, his back pressed against Raleigh's side, his head tipping back to watch the American's mouth move. His neck is arched and exposed, and Raleigh wants to _mark_. “I say skip right to fourth.”

Chuck laughs, and it's the best sound Raleigh has heard in a long time. It's loud and reverberating, and it moves Chuck's entire body. “You haven't even bought me dinner yet, _Raah-leigh,_ ” he says. “You think I'm easy or somethin'?”

_No,_ Raleigh wants to say. _You're not. You're fucking complicated and I wish we had the time to wine and dine and do this right._ Instead, he says, “Depends. Have you, before?”

* * *

_“And you're still going to Hong Kong, even at a time like this?”_

_“Well, orders are orders. What else am I supposed to do?”_

* * *

Chuck's eyes fall from where they're trying to meet Raleigh's, and he leans forward a little. “Nah, never. Between the Academy and then the Jaeger Program..”

“Hey.” Raleigh moves to straddle the bench behind Chuck, his arms winding around his waist. “It's all right.”

“It's not,” Chuck answers. “Nobody wants to die a fucking virgin.”

There's a _you're not going to die_ on the tip of Raleigh's tongue, but he knows not to lie to people like this. Chuck's seen the war, seen what it does. He knows that people die, and sometimes, those people are ones they know. It's just what happens. 

It feels a little too much like _it's our last night on earth,_ and Raleigh almost says that, just for the laugh he thinks it'll draw out of Chuck. Instead, he says, “Then let's make sure that doesn't happen.”

It's ambiguous enough that it has Chuck turning, looking over his shoulder to ask just exactly what Raleigh meant by that, and that's when Raleigh presses their mouths together and starts the countdown in his head.

* * *

_T-7 hours_

Chuck's fingers are fisting in Raleigh's sweater as soon as the older man gets the door closed behind them, like he's afraid that he's going to get pushed away, as if Raleigh would ever be able to do that again. “Easy,” he says, his hands settling under Chuck's jacket, right over his ribs. “We've got time.”

“We've got hours,” Chuck shoots back, his fingers gripping tighter. “We don't...”

“We have time.” Raleigh's not going to let this be some quick, desperate rutting against the wall. Virginity doesn't matter to him so much, but making things good does, and he thinks that Chuck fucking deserves to have something good. “Will you trust me on this one?”

For a moment, Chuck looks like he's going to pull away and bolt. He eyes Raleigh with more than a little uncertainty, and then slowly nods, pushing forward until he's flush against Raleigh's chest. They're about the same height, and the position forces Chuck's arms up and around Raleigh's neck, while his own slide around Chuck's waist. “Thank you,” he says, and Chuck just huffs into his neck.

So that's how he starts. The collar of Chuck's fighter jacket is in the way, but he noses it out of the way and presses his lips to the younger man's pulse. Chuck smells like leather and oil and metal and sweat, just like everyone else in the 'dome, but there's something fresh underneath it. Whatever soap he uses still clings to his skin, and Raleigh chases the scent, trailing his lips up the tendons, pulled taught, until he has his mouth over the soft skin just behind the jaw, under Chuck's ear. 

His tongue darts out to taste, and Chuck's breath hitches. It's a small sound, but they're so close that Raleigh can hear everything, can feel every time Chuck's body jerks, unsure of how to respond to the way Raleigh's touching him. “Relax,” he said softly, before he scrapes his teeth over the shell of the younger man's ear and feels him shudder in his arms. 

By the time they make it to the bed, the side of Chuck's neck is mottled with soft red marks, and there's a flush staining his cheeks. Raleigh's the one who strips the jacket off of him, who tugs the shirt up over his head and lets the dogtags flop back against his bare chest, clinking. The sound makes Chuck look down at them, and then back up at Raleigh, his eyes slowly sliding over the American's still-clothed chest. 

“Want to help me out with this?” Raleigh prompts, and Chuck nods, his hands creeping up under Raleigh's sweater. 

* * *

They're both bare-chested now, pressed up against each other, and Raleigh is tracing every scar he can see on Chuck's body. The younger man is doing the same in return, and Raleigh can't help but think of mortality and how easily they bruise and burn and cut. He holds Chuck a little closer and kisses his mouth, hands dipping down to tug at his belt. 

“Oi, careful there.” Chuck's voice is deep and gravelly, and hitches when Raleigh runs his thumb up through the happy trail poking out of the other man's pants. “That was a gift.”

Raleigh drags his teeth over Chuck's jaw, humming softly. “Then I'll be careful,” he says, and then drops to his knees in front of Chuck. He slides his hands up the younger man's thighs, still clothed in his cargo pants, and grins, fluttering his eyelashes as he looks up at him. He traces the waistband of the pants with his tongue, until Chuck's thighs start to quiver under his hands. “More?”

“Bastard,” Chuck breathes. “Yeah, more. Please, Ray.”

“It's _Raah-leigh._ ” The American brings his hands up to the belt buckle and pushes the tongue through the metal ring, sliding the single tooth out before slowly, carefully, tugging it out of the loops. He lays it on the ground at the end of the bed, and then leans forward, pressing his open mouth against the bulge in Chuck's pants.

“Jesus, fuck!”

Raleigh sits back on his heels, pauses, and then rises to his feet, pulling Chuck in by the hips for another kiss. “Bed,” he says, “and let's get rid of the rest of these clothes.”

* * *

_T-6 hours_

Chuck's panting, and Christ, he's beautiful. Raleigh's had him in his mouth for close to twenty minutes now, and he's had him at the edge twice, and each time, Chuck arches up off the bed like he's been shocked, his pants turning into whines and broken pleas. He's flushed all the way up his chest to the tips of his ears, and his mouth is hanging open just enough to let those sounds come out.

Raleigh pulls off with a slick pop and crawls up Chuck's prone body to give him a messy kiss. Both their chests are slick with sweat, and the American presses them together, covering Chuck's body with his own as he lines their hips up and presses _down_. 

He gets to swallow the little cry Chuck gives as his orgasm washes through him, tucking it away and hiding it deep inside himself, on the off-chance that he never gets to have this again. He kisses Chuck as the younger man shakes and trembles and grasps at his back, the pads of his fingers digging into his shoulder blades. “Easy,” Raleigh murmurs, and kisses the corner of Chuck's mouth. “You're so good.”

* * *

Raleigh's sweater is the first piece of clothing he picks up, and he uses that to clean off Chuck's chest. The younger man is still on his back, his eyes droopy and his expression lax, but when Raleigh throws the sweater to the side again, Chuck reaches for him. “You're still...” he starts, his words a little slurred, his fingers reaching for where Raleigh's hard and curved against his thigh. 

The American bats his hands away gently, shaking his head. “We've got time,” he repeats, and it almost looks like Chuck believes him, this time.

* * *

_T-5 hours_

He's got lube in the drawer, more out of preference than any hope for actually getting someone into his bed, but he's monumentally glad about it now. Because the sight of Chuck taking three of his fingers and pressing back for _More, goddammit. I'm not goin' to break_ is breathtaking, and Raleigh wishes that they actually had the time he keeps assuring Chuck they do.

He slips his fingers out and shushes Chuck softly when he makes a displeased noise. “I've got you,” he says, and tries to ignore the way the younger man's hips buck up at the words. He doesn't quite manage it, though, because the next words out of his mouth are, “You know I'm going to take care of you, yeah?”

From the way Chuck's mouth is working, Raleigh guesses that he's trying to say something but can't quite get it out. It's all right. Raleigh's pretty sure what it is, anyway.

_Promise?_

_Promise._

* * *

Raleigh's sitting back on his heels, and Chuck's legs are wound around his waist, the Australian's face pressed into the crook of his neck. Assurances are pouring from the older man's lips, praises and promises that he has no business making, but it's so fucking hard to keep them in. He can't, not when he's got Chuck in his arms and he's pressing into his tight heat inch by excruciating inch. 

It's not the best position, but they both want to be as close as they can, and Raleigh thinks he can deal with his calves cramping later if he can have this now. If he can have Chuck mouthing clumsily at his neck, leaving bruises that are going to last for days, the sounds of their breathing, the feeling of tight muscle under his fingertips, he can deal with anything.

Chuck whimpers when he's finally seated in Raleigh's lap, his fingers slipping into the American's hair. His grip is tight, but not anywhere near painful. Just grounding. Real. “I've got you,” Raleigh whispers again, and Chuck shudders. 

* * *

Their movements are slow. Chuck's back is pressed up against the wall, and Raleigh's on his knees, with Chuck's limbs tangled around him. It's not frantic, and it's not desperate, although the noises dropping from both their lips might suggest otherwise. It's not sweet, either, it's just... _good_. It's right. It's exactly where Raleigh thinks he should be.

He kisses the healing cut on Chuck's face, the one that came from his own fist, in a silent apology. Chuck turns his head up and kisses Raleigh's lips, and there's not an ounce of remorse there, but his fingers dance over his shoulder momentarily, the one that he tweaked throwing that first punch.

It's a little more desperate after that. 

Chuck clenches around him, and Raleigh's movements become sharper, his hands on Chuck's hips so he can get the angle that will result in _god-fucking-damn, Ray, right there!_

* * *

_T-4 hours_

Raleigh's had sex before. He always made time, both in the Academy and once he was in the Jaeger Program, to fool around a little on the side, walk up to some girl or guy sitting at a bar and whisper in their ear.

_Wanna find out if we're drift compatible?_

He doesn't think he would be, with Chuck. They're too similar. They're both mavericks, never following orders without question and always, _always_ putting their heart and soul into everything they do. They don't balance each other. They _ignite_ each other.

Chuck's second orgasm makes him sink his teeth into Raleigh's shoulder, a mumbled cry that sounds like his name falling from the Australian's lips. It's the sting from Chuck's bite that pushes him over the edge, and it's something he already might have known about himself, but that's not what he's thinking about when he spills, still inside the younger man.

He's thinking about sweat-slick skin and the drift and the way their breathing seems to have synchronized even though they've never been in a Jaeger together. He's thinking about the tattoo his own heart is beating inside his chest, and the answering pounding of Chuck's heart right in front of him. He's thinking about the apocalypse and the war, and then he's not thinking about anything at all.

* * *

“ _Jesus,_ Ray.”

Raleigh's more or less on his back, and Chuck is splayed across his chest, their twin panting slowly calming down to more even breathing. It's comfortable, and Raleigh purposefully isn't thinking about how they have three and a half hours before Operation Pitfall. He's thinking about the warmth of Chuck's body and the smell of sex in the air.

“I take it that you enjoyed yourself, then?” Raleigh asks, and the snort he gets in return answers his question pretty well. Chuck bats at his chest, and then curls his fingers over the ridge of Raleigh's collar bone.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, but Raleigh has to shake his head at that. There's no way he's going to let the kid think about this like a favor, like he put Raleigh out. 

“Should be thanking you,” he throws back, leaning down to press his nose into Chuck's mussed up hair. “You were amazing.”

Chuck snorts again, but he moves in closer, pressing his nose into the column of Raleigh's throat. “Bet you tell that to all the girls.”

And Raleigh can't help but smile, just a little. “Get some sleep, _Charlie_. You're talking nonsense again.”

The Australian flips him off and murmurs something that sounds like _fuck you, Raah-leigh,_ to which Raleigh answers, even though Chuck's breathing is already growing more shallow, more even, _you just did._

>hr>

_T-2 hours_

Chuck's acting like he thinks it should be awkward now, so Raleigh pushes him up against the door and kisses him until he feels the toned body underneath him go pliant. “Nothing changes,” he says, and Chuck nods, his eyes already a little wide, pupils dilated. He swats Raleigh's ass when then man turns to get into the shower, and, of course, Raleigh has to drag him into the little cubicle for a quick _faster, dammit, feels so fucking good_ before they shower and wash away most of the traces of the past few hours.

The marks stay, though. Raleigh wishes they were tattooed on his skin.

* * *

_T-1 hour_

They split up only because they have to. They have to get suited up, Chuck in his battered military greens, and Raleigh in his still-shiny blacks. 

He sees Chuck again, later, for what he'll realize is the last time tomorrow. “Hansen!” He catches Chuck's eyes from across the room, weaving through mechanics and techies until he's at the Australian's side. He claps him on the shoulder, their body armor clanking together. “Stay safe, yeah?”

Chuck looks like he could use another hug, but he just nods. “See you on the other side, Becket-boy.”

* * *

It's all Raleigh can do to crouch down so that the blast doesn't knock them over, because no. That wasn't how this was supposed to go. None of them were supposed to die. They were the heroes. They were supposed to live until the end of the story and win the war and grow old on the planet they'd fucking saved, but not this. 

Anything but this.

In that moment, he's glad he's never drifted with Chuck, because he doesn't think he'd be able to handle another vacant spot in his head. 

* * *

There's people clapping him on the back, when it's over, cheering and shouting and milling around. Herc says a few words, and they're met with roars from the crowd, because they _won_ , dammit. They closed the Breach. And in the end, it only cost them two lives.

Raleigh thinks that he might be sick.

Herc's gripping the railing a little too tightly when Raleigh finally tracks him down, his knuckles white and his entire frame shaking. His respect for the man bumps up a few notches, because _Christ_ , he just lost his son, but he's running the 'dome like he's been doing it his whole life. And he can't even go to his bunk to mourn for five damn minutes. 

He nudges his elbow against Herc's, watching as the Australian straightens and stiffens, all _I'm all right, soldier, don't know what you're talkin' about_ before he realizes that it's only Raleigh. And there's resentment in his eyes, but only the knee-jerk, you're alive and my son isn't kind. Raleigh would offer him a hug, if he thought it would help, but he settles for reaching up and squeezing Herc's shoulder, his good one. 

“I can still fucking feel him,” Herc says, and the full-body tremors haven't quite stopped yet. Raleigh's lucky that piloting Gipsy alone was hard enough to stop his body from reacting like that, or else, he thinks, he might never have made it out of the water. “Was it... did you, with your brother? I thought it was supposed to fucking _stop._ ”

Raleigh doesn't know how to explain how it felt to have Yancy torn away from him, to have his consciousness split in two. He doesn't know how to tell Herc that it _hurt_ so fucking much that he didn't even register the lack of his brother's presence in his mind until he woke up in the hospital. How he reached out and it felt like looking out over a chasm, like standing on the edge of the Breach and knowing that all there was left was a free fall.

“There was nothing, sir,” he says, and Herc collapses in on himself and starts to cry.

* * *

He can hear everyone celebrating, inside the Shatterdome and out. He can even feel Mako's mixed feelings through the ghost drift, and he knows that if he were even a halfway decent copilot and friend, he'd go to her and make sure she had a shoulder to lean on.

The only problem is, Raleigh can't even support himself. He falls onto his bed like a puppet that's had its strings cut, his breath leaving him in a _whoosh_. He should be out there celebrating, too, and he knows that Tendo and Mako are going to drag him out of his room in the morning, for press and pictures and _Congratulations on successfully canceling the apocalypse, Raleigh. Can I call you Ray? What are your plans from here on out?_ And he'll have to smile and talk about reconstruction and hope and how good it is to be alive when all he can think about is the way he ached when Chuck dropped his eyes and said, _“Nah, never.”_

Christ, he was just a kid. 

* * *

_“I can still fucking feel him. Was it... did you, with your brother? I thought it was supposed to fucking stop."_

_“There was nothing, sir.”_

* * *

It's two days later when Tendo comes crashing into his room. He's in the middle of dressing for an interview, his sixth one in the past forty-eight hours, but the wide-eyed look on Tendo's face makes him stop short. 

“What happened with the Breach?”

Because that's the only possible explanation. Tendo looks almost panicked, but at his question, the man pulls up short. “The Breach? The Breach is fine. Still happily closed, actually. It's not that. It's _Chuck._ ”

Oh.

They must have found a body, or what's left of it. Kaiju Blue is fucking corrosive. Still, it's good. Herc can have a proper funeral, and they can all stand around the casket and ask themselves how the fuck it's fair that they're alive and Chuck's not.

“...in medical, and he keeps asking for you, Raleigh...”

“What?”

Tendo blinks, and then rolls his eyes. “I said they found him,” he repeats. “He's in medical, and he's pretty banged up, and I think he lost part of his leg, but he's _alive_ , and he won't stop asking for you.”

Raleigh just stares at him for a moment, and then he's sprinting, pushing people to the side unceremoniously. He's wearing socks and slacks, and his shirt is half-buttoned, the bottom half of it flapping behind him as he skids around a corner, but he doesn't care. 

_Chuck_. Chuck's okay. Chuck's alive, and he's in medical, and he's been asking for him. He hopes this isn't a dream, because he had one of those the night before, and waking up had been one of the worst experiences in his life. But he's almost sure this isn't a dream. Everything feels too real, too solid, and when he finally comes to a stop outside one of the rooms down in medical, he knows it's real by the way his heart stutters and stops in his chest. 

Chuck's sitting up in bed, and Herc's sitting in the chair next to him. They both look up when he pauses in the doorway, panting, chest heaving, and they both have red-rimmed eyes. Herc's holding his son's hand like it's a tether, but something inside Raleigh's relieved to see that his grip isn't as nearly white-knuckled as it had been two days ago.

“Ray,” Chuck says, and _Christ_ , his voice is rough, ragged around the edges. “Thought I was goin' to have to track down your lazy ass.” He's smiling, though, grinning like the cat that got the cream around the bandages that are covering half his face.

In a daze, Raleigh makes his way over to the side of Chuck's bed that's not taken. His finger's in one of those gray clip things, taking his pulse and god knows what other vitals, but Raleigh takes Chuck's hand into his own anyway. He almost sinks to his knees out of sheer relief, and when his legs to give out a moment later, he collapses into a chair one of the nurses pushed up behind him. His eyes never leave Chuck's face. 

He's speechless for a long moment, long enough that Chuck's face falls just a little. His muscles tense like he's preparing for a fight, and that's all it takes to kick Raleigh into gear. 

“I thought I _lost_ you.”

His own voice is wrecked enough that Herc looks up. Raleigh doesn't see it, but the older man's expression goes a little softer, kinder around the edges. He doesn't move, and he won't be moving until someone takes him out by force, but he does turn his head away, looking towards the door and giving his son a sliver of privacy.

Chuck looks a little hopeful at the words, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Can't get rid of me that easy, _Raah-leigh_ ,” he says, almost scoffing. “You're bloody stuck with me now.”

And Raleigh kisses him.

Because there's still something in Chuck's expression that reads _and I understand why you wouldn't want to be_ and that's not okay. “Good,” he says against the younger man's mouth. “Wouldn't have it any other way.”

* * *

_“How did he survive?”_

_“Pentecost ejected the pod, last minute. The explosion sent him out far enough that the 'copters didn't pick him up, first time around. Ended up being a news chopper. Gave them the story of their lives.”_

_“It is a miracle. And the leg?”_

_“Gone from the knee down. He's fucking luc- sorry, Mako. He's lucky that's the only damage done.”_

* * *

“This fuckin' prosthetic itches, Ray. Make it stop.” 

Raleigh glances up from his position on the couch, raising an eyebrow at Chuck. “Let me get right on that. Since I'm the prosthetic king over here.”

His boyfriend glares at him and flips him off, kicking his new leg against one of the cupboards in the kitchen. “Makes sense. You never do get off your royal ass for anythin'.”

It's been two months. Two... difficult months, but two months all the same. The interviews have slowed down, and the restoration process has picked up. Raleigh's heading that, because, as Chuck likes to point out, he does have a background in construction. And Chuck...

Chuck. The Australian never wants to leave the house, claiming that he hates to use the prosthetic (which Raleigh believes) and that no one has any use for old war heroes, anyway (which is utter bullshit). Chuck gets fan mail by the bucket-full, and between that and Raleigh's ever-loving reminders, he thinks he's finally getting it through Chuck's head that his usefulness didn't die with the Jaeger Program.

It's a long road, and it's a hard one, but they've dealt with worse. And, when it gets bad, Raleigh steps up behind Chuck and wraps his arms around the younger man's waist. He nuzzles against his neck, and then whispers, “I've got you,” and it doesn't matter what's going on outside their little bubble, because Raleigh's got him, and Chuck leans back into him and closes his eyes.

“And we've got time.”


End file.
